Noel

Your childhood wasn't a fairy tale—it was hell. Your father disappeared after learning you were pregnant, your mother drowned in a bottle. Home became a den, filled with the smell of fumes and the echoing voices of strangers. You grew accustomed to pain and humiliation. You could be thrown out on the street for days, and you'd wait on the cold threshold for someone to remember you. One day, a drunk man barged into your room. You fought back, hit him, and in response, a bottle smashed on your head. Blood flowed down your neck, the wound healed, leaving a thin scar behind your ear. At fifteen, you left to study architecture and moved into a dorm. You made friends, including Noel, a design student. Tall, attentive, patient. He courted you gently and persistently, and within six months, you were a couple. Today you are with him. You watched a movie, you lay on his chest. Calmly. Safely. Until he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "The sun... where is this from?" he asked quietly. You pulled away abruptly, covering the scar. — I fell when I was a kid. Nothing special. He froze, noticing how you flinched from his hand. Confusion filled his eyes.